Tight-lipped wisdom

I yawned as I was cleaning the toilet bowl, and, as a result, I have added another entry to my lexicon of wisdom...

Always shut one's mouth when cleaning a toilet bowl...

Alternatively...

Never clean toilet bowls!

Wrong Colin - The Umbrella Fella

It was my birthday yesterday and my friend Perontonto Mike - realising that I, being a year older than him, now have more wisdom than him - contacted me and asked for some advice...

Dear Wrong Colin,

Now that you are temporarily more sage than me - please give me the wisdom. Question - I have a new umbrella. I likes it. It matches me eyes. I don't want to get it wet. Do I have to use another umbrella to put on top of my nice umbrella? Please help - it's raining. I don't want the true hairs to get wet.

Hi Perontonto Mike,

You are correct, I have learned a lot on my journey. Paulus the Smyth was wiser than I - for a day! During that time he taught me much and now I, in turn, will share my wisdom to you...

Keep your umbrella dry at all costs Mike - and don't ever put it up if there's even the slightest hint of wind. My advice is to keep the umbrella safe and dry inside on rainy days. Protect and nurture your umbrella Mike!

Bobby & Clarence - Talking Shit

... meanwhile, on the streets of shitty Britain, some serious doo-doo is going on...

Ten Friend Rule!

Ten friends is plenty enough for me, so imagine my anger when some new people recently attempted to befriend me!
"Look," I said, "I already have ten friends, and that's plenty enough so fuck off... go on, fuck off!"

Honestly, the presumption of some people!

Appraisal

A look can say so much. And there I sat, smiling knowingly as I stared into the eyes of my boss during my appraisal. Looking into those scared eyes, I got the message...

"Wrong Colin, to my mind you're a despicable little shit who insists on having his own ideas and challenging mine. What is more, I get the distinct impression that you have blown my cover. I might not be able to do my job, and I might, therefore, make it my business to crack the whip in diversionary displays of petty power-play, but just remember this, you despicable little shit; whatever the rights or wrongs - I HAVE THE POWER."

... blah-di-blah-di-blah... and I have a shack surrounded by weeds; a place of mind where I am free to be ME in all my splendid silliness.

Alas, bullies and power-trippers; corporate constrictors; puffed-up nobodies full of grim reality. It's like a cancer, they're everywhere. I admit it - there was a time when I tried to play their game. I'd wear my pin-striped bikini for interviews and walk like I had a metronome up my arse, but it wasn't true me.

... now I have a shack surrounded by weeds; a place of mine where I am free to play and be ME in all my splendid absurdiness. I have that power!

Wrong Colin Esq.

Aunty Gary and Dan Disco Divas

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Elizabeth the First was a Bloke - SHOCKER!

Early in the Spring of 1558 the aristocratic louche, Sir Michael Hucknell, murdered the aspirant princess, Elizabeth Tudor, by singing at her until she lost the will to live...

Then, donning some thick white lead make-up and some pigs bladders doubling as fronty bumps, he proceeded to act in her place for the next 45 years...

Several times that flirty bastard, The Earl of Essex, nearly happened upon the imposter as he indulged in a furtive five-knuckle shuffle in the garderobe (latrine).

However, the sharp-witted Michael was always a step ahead of the game, and survived to die of natural causes in the ye olde yeare of 1603. Of course, following the Physician's examination of the body, the Privy councillors were informed of the shocking revelation that the Queen had died of a slightly engorged clitorus. We Shackers know this to be true as we were there as witnesses. It is amazing what a different light our Time Machine has cast upon historical 'fact'!

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A Blow for Humankind!

Pictured here is right wing British politician John Redwood getting a blow-job from one of his Martian friends (note the antennae). We Shack dwellers are shocked at this revelation! How could he have sex with a horrible, cold-blooded, gimlet-eyed freak from an entirely alien species. Don't them Martians have any fucking self-respect!?

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The Man!

"... I don't believe that them leaders are giving us any good titty milk. No Dan, it's some bad shit they got us suckling on. Freakin' control is what it's all about, make no mistake about that. Say NO to the nipple of The Man, Dan!"

It did not matter to me that Dan was fast asleep with me, outside, pressed at the window of his bedroom at around two in the morning, because I know that he is with me in spirit. Over the years we grow tolerant of each other's foibles.

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Mind Squatter

This is the explorer and noted antiquarian, Canon Frockhart Pewsley-Truggil. He is currently residing in the left lobe of my brain, for he is that most insidious of presences - a mind squatter. How he got in there, or why, we simply do not know. However, following a brief conversation between the Canon and Monty, we have gleaned a few details.

Firstly, we know he tends a formal garden in my head, and is particularly proud of his topiary chicken.

A topiary chicken like what Wrong Colin has in his bonce

Secondly, Monty reports that this cranial intruder is very fond of the music of Easy Listening legend, Barry Manilow. Apparently, he has an extensive album collection, which he often relaxes to (that'll explain the headaches!).

Sultry Uncle karaoke star, Barry Manilow

Finally, the Canon occasionally takes a peep out of my left eye; looking at the modern world as I wend my way through time-space. (This latter detail, I discovered myself whilst looking into the mirror of my boudoir - quite a shock it was too!)

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Dear Muma...

Dear Muma,

Thank you very much indeed for the lovely present. I am absolutely delighted with it, and can't wait to try it out properly. I note that it is very similar to dad's old one. I have stood in front of the mirror just now with it on, and I think it looks the part. It really is a lovely cock-ring - you are the best Muma a Wrong Colin could hope for!

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The Politics of the Dog

I have been pondering the politics of dogs, and, to be honest, I am a bit confused. On the one hand they advocate a position of communal living and they are very liberal with regard to sexuality. On the other hand, however, they support hierarchy and are fiercely territorial. I have tried discussing this apparent left-right contradiction with my dog, Rags, but he just turns his head to one side, quizzically, and then licks his nuts. I remain deeply troubled by such philosophical inconsistancy (ie with regard to their politics, not Rags licking his nuts!) and will persist in questioning our canine friends about this matter whenever the opportunity presents itself...

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'Inner Keithness', by Jurgen Gavin

Jurgen Gavin, poet

As My Reader will already be aware I was first converted to the belief that everyone on this planet is actually called Keith, through the poetry of Jurgen Gavin. I know that critics have been raving about Gavin's work for many years now, and that nearly everyone is already familiar with it, but I'm still going to quote one of his works here. This one is called,

"Inner Keithness'...

One knows that one is somehow...

incomplete

One cannot place one's finger on

the reason why

One feels that something is wrong

and insincere

One worries that one is not being

true to one's self somehow

Listen then to thy fucking inner Keithness

Listen to the pure heart of Keith within

Be true to Keith

For you are Keith

And so am I...

Keith

Keith

Keith

Keith

Keith

Isn't it...

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The Lady Machine

Oh dearie me! Oh dearie, dearie me!!

Look, every now and then Dan and I like to spend some time in the Lady Machine. It's a wonderful device conceived and constructed by our resident wise weasel, Monty. The idea is, that we can be transformed for a short while into a lady, during which time we are able to enjoy a recreational fondle of ourselves. (Is that so very wrong!)

Anyway, this afternoon Dan fancied a bit of a rummage, so he stepped into the Lady Machine - only, this time there was a bit of a problem...

Here's poor Dan waiting his turn in the machine...

... and here's what he looks like now...

Monty! Monty!! Monty!!!

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Fat Northern Bastard

"Aye, arm reet famished ar am. Need t'get fookin bacon n'eggs doon me neck, eck as like. Ar gotta eet mon or ars fade away, like. Nun of yor filfy southern pooofs food fa me mon! Nah, good ole British foods the stuff reet enough."

(Translation*: "Yes, I am really famished I am. Need to get [some] fucking bacon and eggs down my neck, I do. I've got to eat man or I will fade away. None of your filthy southern poof's food for me man! No, good old British food's the stuff for sure." * Translated by Sir Kenneth Nobchops of the Department of Cultural Perversity)

Fecundate Man Mounds

When I was a wee little bairn I suckled from the nip-nips of my wet nurse, the eminent Norfolk antiquarian, Aunty Gary (pictured, above). All well and good you might think, but I have a guilty secret...

You see, the truth is that we Weedy Shack dwellers continue to enjoy the delicious bounty of Aunty Gary's man-titties to this very day. Indeed, just this afternoon I sat with Sally No and savoured a delicious shake produced by his fecundate man mounds (and highly 'yum yum in my tum' it was too!). In fact, I would go so far as to say that Aunty Gary's milk - mmm, so thick and creamy- is one of the very best things about hanging out in the Shack. I'm forever shouting out,
"First class nip-nips Aunty!" - praise which is greeted by a threatening sneer of pleasure from the dignified old gal.

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Bap Talk

It was well out of order! We were having a perfectly acceptable conversation, within the conventions of our current time-frame and cultural context, when... when he goes and mentions that he ate something from a bap...

"Bap!" I exclaimed indignantly.
"How dare you hit me with that low-down 1970's culinary talk without any warning whatsovever."

The culprit knows who he is, and he should be ashamed of himself for this transgression. Next it will be fondue talk, and then where will we be!

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Murder In The Church

It should have been just another informative Sylvanian Family Community Day Out. There's Monty the wise weasel talking about the Late Saxon dating evidence in the church of Great Dunham. It should have been a positive educational experience - a harmless piece of Antiquarian investigation followed by tea and jelly in the car.

However, just as the clouds drift grey over the sun, this was destined to be a day touched with tragedy. As your eyes shall see, the evil eyeless Binky paid a terrible price for his intrusion upon the Sylvanian's. It should have been us all singing in the car afterwards, not sitting in sullen silence, with Haylett's tiny body lying limp on the dashboard...

Following the discovery of Binky's flattened body, the rural sleuth, P.C. Badger went into action. Monty applied his forensic intelligence to the investigation, and in no time they were interrogating Elvin, who they themselves had caught fighting with Binky a few moments before the long eared psychopath's demise. Following this piece of deductive sleuthing, the defiant Elvin - "Yo Muvverfuckers, leave the dude alone. I'm goin to tha Man. Tha Man'll kick yo sorry asses, dudes!" - was led away by P.C. Badger.

All the while, unnoticed, Haylett Owl slipped off and flew the short distance to the nearby Chief Executive's Oak in Money Maker Woods. It was there that Dave the Dan and I found her sad little carcass swaying lifeless in the branches. We will never know her thoughts. Was it guilt, or was she murdered? Twit-twoo-dunnit, that is the question?

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Pinged to Death!

The creature had been plaguing us for three days and nights. It was somewhere in my front room for three days and nights, and it was driving Rags insane. The poor old pooch got so uptight that he shat himself today - diahorrea everywhere. After reassuring my daughters that it would not chew through any cables, the creature chewed through our phone cable. I could not tolerate this undermining of my credibility in the eyes of my adoring children - enough is enough. I had stalked the creature with a 1.77 air pistol for two days, but with little success. It's time to call in Dave the Dan, the man of many coats...

And so we did. By this time, the creature had been trapped up the chimney. We decided to smoke the bastard out. With fire ablaze I turned to Dave and said, half jokingly,

"Let's just hope he doesn't fall into the fire and come charging out at us..."

Guess what! At that very moment there was a plop and a blurr of fur came streaking out of the ashes reducing Dave and I to girly shrieks (a hilarious sound of screams and kerfuffle according to my giggling family). Dave was stamping his foot on the floor, convinced the creature had run up his trouser leg. I was frozen on the spot for... I don't know how long.

However, we soon regained our composure and proceeded to hunt the creature. It was already hampered by the smoke and a pellet which I had winged it with yesterday. Eventually, - after numerous pot shots with the pea-shooter - I dispatched it with a fatal shot.

The taking of a life - even that of a big brown rat - is taken very seriously by the Sylvannian Family Community, to which I act as Community Coordinator. And so Monty the wise weasel ("he's not an otter!"), and P.C. Badger came to inspect the body of the fallen rat who had dominated things round here over the last few days...

"He's fucking snuffed it!" exclaimed the gnarled old rozzer.

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Norfolk Names...

This is a name on a grave in a Norfolk churchyard...

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P. Niss Poetry

Osbert P. Niss, aged 25

As My Reader will know, I am a huge fan of the poetry of Osbert P. Niss. I find his work wonderfully figurative and embodying timeless spiritual dimensions which are profoundly moving and uplifting. Here, I share one of his most innovative works...

I like to wank

it's pleasure for free

I like to wank

I does it for me

Get my tadger
in my hand
Play it like a
one-man band
Catching cum in a
wankerchief
stealing pleasure
by hand relief

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